I Know Him
by Socrates7727
Summary: Harry didn't like Draco, but he knew Draco. He'd spent years studying the blond, looking for weaknesses or any hint of an upcoming attack, and as much as he hated to admit it he'd learned... And he knew when something was wrong. Angsty Drarry one-shot! M for mentions of suicide


AN I don't own HP or any of the characters! Angsty Drarry-ish one-shot

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Harry didn't like Draco, but he _knew _Draco. He'd spent years studying the blond, looking for weaknesses or any hint of an upcoming attack, and as much as he hated to admit it he'd learned. Just little details, at first, from the way he walked to the way he held himself in class. He could tell by the way Draco held his books when walking from class to class whether or not he'd done the required homework. Tucked into his left side if he hadn't, almost hiding it. Freely in both hands if he had.

Draco's table manners, as well, proved quite revealing. He could imagine that the Malfoy's were proper and formal at home, given Draco's propensity towards overly polite or pretentious displays of manners, but the devil was in the details. If the blond held his goblet like a glass of fancy wine, more cradling it than holding, Harry knew he was anxious. When Draco talked to his friends during meals, Harry could tell how well he'd slept the night before by whether or not he let his forearms rest against the edge of the table.

The little nuances and complexities of Draco's sheer existence read for Harry like an in-depth character analysis. Each person in Draco's life had two distinct names-one friendly, one distant. However, Harry knew now that Draco didn't use those names as a way to distinguish who was fighting with who or to tell someone he was pissed at them. Instead, Draco used those names to highlight or downplay relationships. In front of his father, it was all formality. He didn't want to seem close to anyone, not even other Slytherins, and Harry quickly noticed that he did the same in front of Snape.

When it was Harry-just Harry-who was present or overhearing, Draco used little nicknames. Blaise became B and Pansy became Pans. It was like Draco was trying to emphasize how close they were, as if he could make Harry jealous or something. But, whether it made sense or not, Draco's use of names was interesting and it gave Harry more insight into how he felt towards each person. He knew, for example, that Draco trusted McGonagall even if he didn't act like it because he used nicknames in her class. In Potions or in Care of Magical Creatures, however, it was full names only, and Harry had never once seen him slip up. Hermione and/or Ron also warranted a switch back to formality.

There were hundreds of little, barely-there things that Harry would never have noticed if he hadn't spent so many years studying the blond. Draco fixed his hair more in front of people who had ties to his father. He fiddled with his signet ring whenever he was lost in thought, and he tended to write in a fancy, calligraphic cursive whenever passing notes that he didn't want others to read.

As the years went by, though, Harry started to notice the difference. Draco was quieter, now, and not as quick to spit back an insult if confronted. There was a tired, hopeless kind of weight to the way he moved and his gait became slower and less confident, as if even existing was its own kind of weight. The blond began avoiding physical contact, too, and flinching whenever he couldn't. He was jittery, but in a lethargic sort of way. His pale grey eyes still widened in fear whenever a wand was raised in his direction, but the reaction was slow like the thoughts had to fight through molasses just to register.

No one else seemed to notice. It was honestly concerning how none of the other Slytherins in Draco's gang seemed to realize anything was off. Harry understood the other houses writing it off or not noticing, because they didn't care, but these were the people Draco had grown up with and lived with for nearly six years. Surely they cared? None of them noticed, though, and if they did they did a very good job of hiding it.

Harry knew the second a Slytherin went darkside. The switch wouldn't have been obvious but he watched for it now and he knew the moment Draco put up that cold, polite front that they'd turned. Pansy stopped being Pans and became Parkinson. More and more, Draco started to don the appearance of a herded animal-tired, scared, and being forced through the motions by some greater power. Blaise stopped being B. It was Zabini, now, if Draco even bothered to speak to his best friend at all.

Slowly, as the war drew closer, Harry watched the blond pick up new habits and hide them beneath the formality. Draco kept to himself a lot of the time, now, and spent meals in near-silence rather than talking or laughing with the other Slytherins. The weight in Draco's face grew heavier. In Potions, Draco's nails caught the back of Harry's robes and he noticed they were short and jagged-bitten. As the seasons progressed, mud started appearing on Draco's normally spotless uniform. From walks around the lake, Harry guessed.

He watched the blond fold in on himself, unable to do anything. The hand on his goblet never relaxed anymore, and then Draco didn't drink at all. Full servings became half, and then quarter. Draco started skipping meals all together and staying silent during classes-which was so uncharacteristic that even Hermione and Ron noticed. But Draco didn't seem to care what anyone thought now. He glared at Snape, accepting the detention without a word, and he traveled without his entourage for the first time since coming to Hogwarts. By the time even one of the the Slytherins took notice, Draco had started missing classes.

Harry didn't like Draco, but he knew him.

He knew his quirks, he knew his tantrums, and he knew that something was very, very wrong. It took two missed classes for Harry to snap. With a mumbled excuse to Flitwick about not feeling well, Harry darted for his room and dug through his trunk until he found the map. Draco was in the room of requirement.

To say Harry was shocked would be an understatement. He hadn't even thought the blond knew about the room, let alone where it was or how to get into it, but he didn't have time to worry over it. The cold, empty look in Draco's eyes came hauntingly back to him and he broke into a run. For some reason, he had a distinct sense of dread in his gut. Something told him that whatever was about to happen would be very bad, and he urged his body faster. Before he even reached the door, he pictured Draco. Not a room, not any kind of atmosphere that he needed. Just Draco.

When he burst into the room, he didn't have time to take in the darkness or the emptiness of the room Draco had created. His eyes found the blond, with his wand jabbed up under his jaw.

"_Expelliarmus!_" Draco's wand flew out of his hand and he spun, clearly terrified by Harry's sudden appearance. For a moment, they both just stood there.

"What the fuck, Potter?!" But Harry had seen him and it was too late. He'd seen the pain in Draco's face, and he'd seen the finality in the way the blond held his wand to his own throat.

"Don't do it." Draco's face was red and blotchy, contorted into something like betrayal. Harry couldn't let him do it, though. He lunged for-and got-the blond's wand safely away before he dared to face him again. Carefully, he swallowed. Draco was crying, he realized, and those pale hands he'd seen duel and fight so confidently were trembling.

"Don't do it." Harry didn't know what else to say. "Something's wrong and I know you think that no one's noticed and no one cares but that's not true. I noticed. Everything you do-it's all wrong, it's all fake and forced and it's not you. I don't know what's going on, but I noticed, Draco. I noticed." He stopped. The words simply refused to come because Harry had no idea what to say. Not for lack of understanding, though. He understood that look on Draco's face and that desire to just end it all _so_ well, he just didn't know what to say that would help.

"What are you doing here, Potter?"

"You missed Charms for the second time this week and you weren't in your dorm so… I don't know. I thought maybe something had happened to you." Draco sneered at him, but any malice or emotion had disappeared from that pale face a long time ago so it was just an empty motion.

"Like you'd give a shit. Who sent you? Snape?" There was no fire, though, in that question. As he watched, Draco curled his lower lip in and worried it between his teeth-fear, Harry knew-until it was red and raw. He was scared.

"No one sent me." Another sneer, this one with much less effort behind it.

"You don't even like me, Potter."

"No, I don't. But I do know you and I know something's wrong. You've been cutting people out of your life like clockwork and you've started missing meals, missing classes. Your hair is all wrong, the part is messy, and I know for a fact that you've missed two haircuts-which you need, desperately." Harry stopped suddenly, very aware that Draco's face had gone scarily blank. Had he said something wrong?

"Did you just insult my hair?" He started to back track, to rewind and reword, but then Draco was laughing. It was a dark, bitter sound but it was more than Harry had heard from him in weeks and it was like a shot of morphine in his veins. Harry laughed too, caught up in the moment, and it wasn't until he saw the tears still falling steadily down Draco's cheeks that he stopped. Absentmindedly, the blond ran a hand through his hair.

"I don't have ties with your father." Draco gave him a very surprised, very confused look and Harry quickly realized his mistake. "Sorry, I just… you always run your hand through your hair like that when you're with someone who's close to your father." It was slow, but Draco slowly gave him an appraising look.

"Do I?" The question was light, but Harry didn't like how casual this had suddenly become. He'd just walked in on Draco, presumably about to kill himself, and he didn't want it to be like friendly banter. This was serious, even if Draco didn't think so.

"Yeah, you do. And you fiddle with your fingers like that when you want to avoid something." Harry was more than afraid that he'd overstepped. Any minute now, he expected the blond to reel on him and start a fight or a screaming match or simply storm out. But Draco gave him a curious look. Slowly, still without his wand, Draco sat on the cold stone of the room.

"What else do I do?" It felt like they were settling in, as if they were going to have a long conversation now, so Harry sat down as well. He made sure to keep both wands far away from the blond, though.

"You bounce your leg during Quidditch matches, especially if you're not the one playing. Sometimes you clench your jaw randomly. That's how I know you're stressed or upset about something. I don't know if you mean to, but you get extremely formal with people, even people you trust or like, if someone you aren't comfortable with comes within earshot." Draco hummed, as if appreciating this newfound information, but didn't open his mouth or speak so Harry continued.

"You pop your thumb in and out of the joint during tests. If you're nervous about it, especially. You reach for your wand whenever someone gets too close to you-you didn't used to do that, though-and you look down and to the left when you feel threatened. I haven't figured out why, yet, but you tie your shoes differently. On the right, you always do the loop-da-loop method, but the on the left you do two bunny ears. I've been working on that one for a while." Draco hummed again, but this time Harry gave a longer pause, hoping that the blond would feel the need to fill the silence.

"You try to figure out my habits?" Harry could only nod. "Do you think you've got any of the them right?" He knew, for certain, that he had at least a few correct so he nodded. Draco, evidently, was waiting for him to share, though.

"I know why you write in such fancy, loopy script. It's so people can't just skim read whatever's on your paper without really studying it first." The blond nodded, seemingly in encouragement to continue. "I know you run your hand through your hair more around people you don't trust because you use your image like a shield." Another nod. Draco was staring at the floor now-lost in thought, or maybe just focusing on something other than Harry's face. He wasn't sure if he should keep going but Draco stayed quiet again.

"I'm pretty sure you chew your lip when you're nervous because you were taught not to bite your nails." Another hum, this one with more of a nostalgic quality to it. "I think you use more manners and more formality when you're uncomfortable because that's what you did as a kid. I think you aren't as snarky now because your mind is somewhere else. I think you look down and to the left when you're scared because that's where your father's cane usually is…" Harry trailed off, waiting to see if that last one would hit a nerve, but Draco merely nodded.

"And what do you think about this?" Quickly, Draco pushed up his left sleeve and showed Harry his forearm. It was covered in thin, neat little white lines. Scars. For a second, Harry couldn't breathe because he'd never imagined Draco would self-harm and he kicked himself for not seeing it sooner but those pale grey eyes were still staring at him. He could have healed the wounds, Harry realized, or used some Dittany to reduce the marks. Draco wanted the scars.

"I think… You hope that if you scar it enough they won't be able to put the dark mark there. I think that you feel like you deserve punishment or pain. And I think you're wrong." Draco began to wring his hands-there was something he didn't want to say, but was trying to make himself say anyways.

"You don't even like me."

"I know you, though." He watched those perfect white teeth catch the blond's lower lip again and roll it. Draco was thinking, considering, debating whether or not he should say something. Harry knew his gestures, though, and just waited.

"Can I ask you a favor?" Shit. Immediately, Harry's mind went to the two wands that were still in his hands and he considered saying no. What if Draco asked him to finish the job? Or, at the very least, to let Draco finish it himself?

"You can ask, but I make no guarantees." Draco just nodded, though. Not once did those grey eyes flicker to the wands, or even to Harry. He was staring fixedly at the floor and still crying, though it was softer and more broken now.

"Distract me?" But the way Draco's voice broke over that sentence was too much. Harry caved, pulling the blond into his arms for a fierce hug as he tangled a hand in his hair. Draco went rigid, at first. Slowly, though, the blond relaxed into his hold and even hugged him back.

"Draco..." The blond shivered at his first name, but the shaking rippled out into his hands and didn't stop. "Okay, yeah, do you wanna hear a story?" He nodded, but the shaking just got worse. Harry didn't know what else to do. Slowly, he took those pale hands in his own and ran the other through those blond locks.

"This one time, when I was a kid, my aunt and uncle took me and my cousin to the zoo for his birthday. There was this snake there. I didn't mean to, and didn't know what would happen, but I made the glass disappear. I set the snake free and locked my cousin in… You listening, Drake?" Below him, the blond hummed and resituated so he could rest his head against Harry's shoulder. A bit of that weight was lifting, Harry noticed. Draco had stopped shaking and let his eyes close-trust-but it didn't seem to be enough.

"Thank you, Potter." Harry couldn't stop himself from chuckling at the formality of the name-it wasn't rude, and he could tell Draco was using it as a joke.

"Anytime, Malfoy, you wanna hear another one?" The blond nodded, but that wasn't what let Harry keep talking. It was the way Draco's jaw stilled, the way he stopped chewing his lip and stopped breathing in scared little pants. He was relaxing, bit by bit.

"The first time I ever played gobstones…"

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Thanks for reading! Please review!


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